The Waiting Game
by NorthernStar
Summary: Boulton, Lennox and Webb are taken hostage when a robbery goes wrong...
1. One

Disclaimer: Pierson, Freemantle, blah, blah, blah…

Rating: 12A

Warnings: Violence (non-graphic) and bad language

Notes: Takes place in late summertime of 2000, i.e., around the time of "Lullaby" but before "Find the Lady" (well obviously.)

**The Waiting Game**

_By NorthernStar_

Duncan watched Mickey Webb wolf down his second slice of toast, dripping with butter, egg yolk and sauce from the fried beans on his plate. There were more calories in front of Mickey than a man needed in a whole day. Duncan's own breakfast was a modest cup of tea and two slices of toast with the barest scraping of low fat marg, ordered without much enthusiasm to keep to the strict diet Shona had him on. And yet _he'd _be a few pounds heavier by the end of the day. Mickey would still be a rake.

It wasn't fair.

Duncan took another gulp of tea and made himself look away from the huge pile of eggs, bacon, sausages, beans, hash brown, mushrooms and tomatoes being enthusiastically inhaled by the narrowest member of CID. Not that it made much difference. He could still smell it, rich and enticing.

The waitress was looking their way again – or rather, Mickey's way – immediately going back to collecting dirty plates when she saw Duncan noticing. At the table beside them there was a pale looking woman, sipping a tea while her daughter, dressed in a blue check school dress, slowly read aloud from a reading book. Every so often the woman would give a little rock to the pram next to them. The only other occupants of the café was a large man, dressed like a builder in paint strewn jeans and a grubby T and the ratty man cooking the food.

Mickey stifled a yawn between bites and that was the last straw.

"D'ye mind?" Duncan asked. "Bad enough I have to watch ye eat that, without seeing the evidence as well."

Mickey covered his mouth. "Sorry."

The immediate apology softened him. Mickey must really be tired if he wasn't capable of coming up with a response.

"Did you get any sleep after the Patterson trial?"

Mickey shook his head. "Nah. That git brief - Tompkins innit? – He 'eld it up. Didn't give evidence 'til gone free."

"What time d'you get home?"

"I didn't." He admitted. "'Ad some paperwork to do."

"Better hope the DI doesn't find out you went on this obbo without sleeping first."

Mickey looked up. "You ain't gonna tell 'im?"

Duncan shook his head. "Just get some sleep before tonight, OK?"

They'd been watching the bookies down the road, observing the people going in and out. CID was pretty sure the place was being used to launder money and somehow a local MP was involved. He and Mickey had got a few good pictures during the night, but nothing that explained any connection to the MP nor anything concrete that would satisfy the CPS on the laundering charge. They could only hope the next watch, Kerry and Boulton, had better luck. Or he and Mickey would be in for a third sleepless night.

Mickey gulped down a delicious looking strip of bacon and Duncan sighed. This time he looked over Mickey's shoulder to look out the window. There was a NatWest bank across the street just opening its doors to begin the day. He watched as a few customers who had been waiting outside filed in.

Mickey continued to munch.

A few minutes later, a Securicor van pulled up outside the bank. Duncan's eyes followed one of the guards as he got out, case in hand, and headed into the NatWest.

Mickey noisily dipped more bread into his fried egg and Duncan distracted himself by taking another unsatisfying bite of his toast. Once he'd finished his tea, he'd leave and Mickey could eat whatever the hell he liked. He hoped Mickey and his breakfast (and the waitress - who was looking their way _again _– if she so wished), would all be very happy together. This time Mickey caught her eye and she blushed. Mickey smirked. Then yawned, rubbing at his shadowed eyes before returning to his monster breakfast.

With a heavy sigh, Duncan knew that no matter how frustrating it was, he wasn't going anywhere. No way should Mickey be driving in this state. CID was understaffed as it was, without its newest member snoozing his car under a bus.

The door clattered behind him and Duncan looked up to see Boulton walk in, fresh as a daisy after hours of sleep, probably on a tea run to help pass those bottom-numbing hours watching the comings and goings of a bookies. He looked in a goodish mood too, but you never could tell these days. He seemed to swing from scarily good moods to equally frightful bad ones.

Woman trouble, Mickey had decided unsympathetically. And Duncan was inclined to agree.

Behind the DS, across the street, something caught Duncan's eye. He dropped his tea and managed to yell, "Sarge!" before the Securicor van parked over the road exploded. The glass in the café windows flew in, Boulton was thrown forward by the force of the blast and everything around them descended into chaos.

---

The café echoed with the sound of screams and crying. Mickey got to Boulton first. He was sprawled face down amid the shatters of glass. Mickey could see the back of his head was a mess of blood, staining his wannabe carrot-head into brilliant scarlet. Leaning over, Mickey checked he was still breathing and that his airways were clear even as he heard Duncan yelling at everyone to be calm and then yelling himself into his mobile phone.

Mickey wiped sweat away from his brow and was surprised to see his wrist come away coated in red. The sound of police sirens wailing in the distance underplayed the mangle of noises as Mickey carefully checked Boulton over.

Duncan knelt down. "Ambulance is on its way. How is he?"

Mickey shrugged. "Dunno."

Duncan leaned in to look himself just as two masked men burst in, waving sawn-off shotguns and obviously very on edge.

"Nobody move!"


	2. Two

**--2--**

One of the masked men, wearing a leather jacket, turned while his companion covered the startled people and looked out the smashed windows of the café. The Securicor van lay on its side, dented and smoking, back doors blown clear off. A guard lay on the ground from where he had been thrown by the explosion. He was missing a leg. And there wasn't much left of his head.

"Fuck." He murmured.

Duncan stood up, reacting without even thinking. The other gunman, this one larger, wearing a black bomber jacket, pointed his gun at Duncan, stopping him. "Back off."

Duncan moved back, putting his hands up. Behind him he could hear the little girl and the baby crying and their mother's desperate attempts to shush them.

"You too." The man snapped at Mickey, who was still kneeling at Boulton's side.

Mickey looked up. "He's hurt."

The gun poked closer. "You'll join him!"

"Mickey." Duncan warned.

Mickey scooted back.

The leather jacketed man left the window as the sounds of police sirens grew louder. "Pigs."

The other gunman looked around the café, "what's in there?" He demanded, jabbing his gun towards the door behind the till.

"Stock room." The ratty café owner replied nervously. "Freezers and the like."

"Right, get in there!" The large gunman yelled. "All of you!"

The waitress and the owner scuttled in quickly. The builder followed, casting looks at the gunman. Duncan cursed. The last thing they needed was a have-a-go hero getting them all killed.

"And you!" The smaller gunman screamed at the mother. She gave a frightened wail and the little girl's cries grew louder.

The man stormed over to them.

"Shut her up!" He screamed at her mother. He pointed the gun into the pram. "Shut them both up!"

"NO!" The woman cried, lunging forward to grab her baby. She knocked into the gunman.

"BITCH!" He snapped and backhanded her across the mouth.

Mickey started forward but Duncan grabbed him.

The larger bomber jacketed gunman came over. He put out a hand to stop his companion. "Just get in the other room!" He told the woman.

The sobbing mother guided her daughter out, clutching the baby to her.

"Why don't you give yeselves up, ay?" Duncan immediately began, drawing the gunman's attention away. "Police'll have this place sealed off pretty soon."

The gunman exchanged looks and then the smaller man began upturning tables to barricade the door.

Duncan began to wish he'd kept his mouth shut.

---

Kerry was having a good day. She'd woken up to her favourite song on the radio. Her toast hadn't burned this morning and the postman hadn't delivered any bills. In fact, with the sun shining, she felt pretty good.

It started to go wrong the moment she saw the van – white, non-descript – speed past the equally non-descript CID car they were using for the obbo. The van flew down the street, heedlessly. She turned to get the license plate and saw it screech to a halt beside a Securicor van.

She realised what was happening two seconds before two ski-masked men jumped out the van, fully armed and yelling.

"Bloody hell!"

She watched as the Securicor guard coming out of the bank immediately got face down on the ground. One of the masked men placed something against the doors of the Securicor van and the guard shook his head, obviously panicked as the gunman ran back behind their own vehicle.

Then she was yelling into her radio.

She got to the word "assistance" before the semtex exploded.

---

Boulton began to groan. Duncan had to fight the urge to go to his side.

"Let us get him, ay?" He asked.

Bomber Jacket nodded once. Mickey and Duncan quickly went to Boulton. The sergeant moved his legs restlessly, coming too. He didn't seem to be that badly injured. His arm looked odd as if his shoulder was dislocated, or a bone broken.

Mickey looked at Duncan. "Fink we should move 'im?"

"Can't leave him here."

As gently as they could, they rolled Boulton onto his back and with Duncan supporting his top half and Mickey his legs, they heaved him into the backroom. He moaned and mumbled something. It sounded like 'hair.'

Inside the cramped stockroom, they lay him beside the back wall. Duncan shrugged his suit jacket off and rolled it up to place under his head. As he did so, something slipped from the pocket onto the floor, unnoticed.

Duncan sighed as the fabric began to soak up the blood from Boulton's head. "The wife'll kill me."

Mickey's eyes flickered up to the gunmen. "She might not get the chance."

Boulton coughed. His eyes opened, but the pupils looked screwy.

"Sarge?" Mickey asked softly and with a glance at the gunmen, decided that this wasn't the place for rank. "Boulton?"

He grunted. "Mic…"

"You all right?"

A mumble.

Mickey gave him the 'v' sign. "'Ow many fingers?"

"Mickey…You're a…tosser."

Duncan smiled. "I think he's all right, don't you?"

---

The area cars screeched to a halt, Tony and Reg in one and Smithy and Cass in the other. They got out and immediately began assessing the damage. Tony knelt beside the dead guard.

Kerry ran over to them, clutching her police radio.

"They went in the café!" She gasped out. "Mickey, Duncan and Sergeant Boulton are in there too."

---

Mickey watched the gunmen. They were speaking together near the door, arguing about what to do next. The one with the leather jacket on was clearly angry at the turn of events. The other didn't seem so nervous. He was still in control, still thinking. That made him dangerous.

Mickey looked at the waitress. She was sitting beside him, clutching her knees, eyes wide. He realised that she wasn't much older than 21.

Boulton's eyes had flickered shut again. He and Duncan had looked at each other, but there didn't seem much they could do. The DS obviously needed medical help. They could only hope it wasn't urgently.

Mickey realised Duncan, sitting the other side of Boulton, was watching him. "What?"

"What about you?" He said. "Let's have a look at that cut."

"M'OK."

"Look, its not gonnae affect ye manhood for me to take a look, now is it?"

Mickey shuffled around and let Duncan poke in his hairline. He'd already felt along the cut himself, checking for fragments of glass, but the wound seemed to be clean and it was no longer bleeding.

"Won't even need stitching." Duncan decided.

The rest of the occupants seemed OK. The builder, who had been seated close to the window, was sporting several gashes from the flying glass, but for the most part the rest of them were unharmed.

The baby continued to wail, its tiny face going red in its distress. It didn't seem to matter how much its mother tried to rock it, the infant wasn't calming down. Already on edge, it didn't take much for the larger gunman to snap under the piercing sounds.

He stormed over and pointed his gun at the baby. "Shut that bloody thing up!"

The woman cried out and tried to curl around her child.

Duncan immediately came to stand in front of her. "Put it down, ay?" He told him calmly. "The police are gonnae be outside in minute. You start firing off wi' that and they'll be in here just like that."

The man pressed the gun against Duncan's chest, square over his heart. "You Haggis?" He snarled.

Duncan continued, keeping his eyes fixed on the man and not on the gun barrel touching him. "Start thinking, ay? You cannae go anywhere. Gee yeselves up and you'll be doing yeselves a favour."

The man put his face right in Duncan's. "I can't stand Haggis."

Boulton groaned, "…uncan…" and waved a hand, probably trying to call him off.

The other gunman came over and kicked him. Mickey flew to his feet, reacting, only to freeze as the gun came up at his chest. Boulton curled up, moaning. His movements revealed a black square of leather lying beside him where it had fallen from Duncan's pocket. The gunman bent to pick it up. Mickey's blood ran cold when he realised what it was.

The gunman opened the wallet. The Met police badge inside glinted in the light and beside it, Duncan's picture stared out. The gunman's head snapped up, looking furiously at Duncan.

"Pigs!"


	3. Three

**--3--**

Duncan put his hands up, backing away.

"Look, lets not do anthin' hasty, all right?" He said nervously.

Mickey didn't take his eyes off the gunmen. For the moment they were both focused on Duncan, who was doing his best to calm them down. He slowly edged his fingers into his back pocket and coaxed out his own warrant card. The waitress glanced at him and then quickly away. She leant a little forward, blocking his movements from view. Mickey could have kissed her. He palmed his warrant fold to the floor and pushed it under a freezer.

Mickey then glanced at the half conscious sergeant, but there was no way to do the same for him without being seen. He had no idea which pocket Boulton kept his card in for a start and searching him was out of the question.

The larger gunman was slowly advancing on Duncan. "Le's do him."

Duncan paled. "Now hold on a-"

"Jackson!" The other gunman snapped, moving his gun to point at his partner. "Back the fuck off! Like 'e said, you start shooting and we'll have half the Met in here. Just tie the bugger up!"

The large gunman stopped, still staring at Duncan. "Wiv what?"

Leather Jacket pointed the gun at the ratty café owner. "You!" He demanded. "You got any rope?"

The café owner looked petrified, obviously trying to think against the panic welling up inside him.

"Cuffs!" The gunman the other had called Jackson said. "If he's a copper, he'll have cuffs."

But Mickey knew Duncan didn't. Now off-duty, they'd left them in the car. Jackson began to search Duncan, poking through his pockets and around his belt.

"Th-there's cable on that shelf." The café owner managed to say, pointing to the far wall.

The leather jacketed gunman went over and pulled out an electrical flex, like the sort found on CD players and video recorders. He shoved it at Jackson. "Tie 'im up!" then pointed at Boulton and Mickey. "And check his mates."

"Do I look like the filth?" Mickey objected as he got to his feet to be searched.

"He's got nothing to do wi' this." Duncan told them, wincing as he was bound.

The smaller gunman hissed. "Gag him 'n' all."

Mickey's pockets were checked, hands feeling him up and down. His wallet and the £30 inside were taken out and examined, and not returned. Then the gunman moved on to Boulton, making the injured man moan as he roughly frisked him.

They found his badge in his pocket.

---

The area had been cordoned off, and the place was buzzing with police officers. Members of the public had gathered in front of the tapes, gawping at the carnage like it was the next best thing to an episode of EastEnders. On the road there were two ARV's, parked at angles in front of the Ronnie's café, providing cover for the SO19 officers who had trained their weapons on the smashed windows of the little greasy spoon.

As Meadows car pulled up, an ambulance took away with the guard, sirens going intermittently, warning people to get out of the way. But it wasn't in any real hurry. None of the Securicor personnel had survived the explosion.

Meadows and Brownlow got out of the car and strode over to Kerry, who was standing with Tony and Reg and a dark-haired heavily armoured officer who was obviously in charge of the SO19 units.

"Sir." Kerry said. "This is Inspector Peter Yates of SO19."

"What the sit rep?" Meadows asked.

"We know there are at least two gunmen." Yates said. "We believe they've taken several hostages, including 3 of your men, into a back room of the café. I have several men posted around the building but so far we've had no visual contact."

Meadows frowned. "Are you sure Boulton, Webb and Lennox are inside?"

"I saw them go in myself, sir." Kerry told them. "I also witnessed the attempt on the Securicor van. They must have used some sort of explosive. I guess they thought that was a way to get past the security systems."

Brownlow glanced at the upturned van. "It worked."

"We think someone was injured in the blast." Tony cut in.

"Duncan called for an ambulance on his mobile phone shortly after the explosion." Kerry explained. "But he didn't give any indication as to who it was or how seriously they were injured."

Meadows frowned. "Has anyone tried to call Duncan?"

"We didn't want to risk spooking the gunmen." Kerry replied.

"And they haven't made any threats? No bargains?" Brownlow asked.

"No. We're setting up an open line on the café's landline now." Yates said. "We should be able to talk to them within the next ten minutes."

"Good." Meadows told them. "I want this sorted before it gets out of control."

Brownlow gave a single nod. "And taken out of our hands."

---

Mickey watched as Jackson tied and gagged Duncan. The large DC caught his eye once. Mickey hoped the look held some approval that he'd managed to keep his identity secret.

The little girl had stopped crying but had gone dead white. Mickey knew bugger all about kids, but that didn't look right even to him. He smiled and winked at her. She shrank back against her mother's side.

Then he remembered the one thing Jackson hadn't stolen during his rummage through Mickey's jacket pockets – the Mars bar he'd brought along on the obbo in case of emergencies. This certainly applied.

He made sure none of the gunmen were looking then pulled the chocolate out of his top pocket and held it out. There was a flash of life in the little girl's eyes and she looked to her mother for permission, pale face breaking into a small grin when she got it.

The child took the bar and concentrated on opening the wrapper. Her mother gave Mickey a look of eternal gratitude.

Jackson looked down at Boulton. "Think we should do him too?"

The other gunman came over and kicked the prone sergeant. Boulton moaned. "He ain't going anywhere."

"Reckon we should tie 'em all up."

"What wiv?" He waved his gun around the storeroom, with its boxes of crisp packets stacked around large locker freezers and its shelves laden with tins of beans. "Frozen sausages?" He smiled as the little girl shrank back and her mother whimpered as they watched his gun bob over their heads. "They'll keep quiet." He murmured, "won't you?"

Jackson chuckled at the fear, obviously enjoying the show. He came to stand over them as well, getting even closer with his gun. The little girl clutched her half eaten Mars bar to her, curling up tightly.

Mickey's muscles tightened, adrenaline flooding his veins but he forced himself to stay still. There was nothing more he'd like than to smash the bastard's head in, but he knew that was the surest way to get them all killed.

Jackson leant over the little girl, held his gun just inches from her head for a long moment and then, "BOO!"

The woman cried out in fear, clutching her children to her. The little girl screamed.

The builder showed less restraint. He jumped up, throwing himself at Jackson, fist connecting with the gunman's jaw. Jackson stumbled back and the builder followed.

Mickey bolted to his feet, starting forward. "NO!"

The gun went off.


	4. Four

**--4--**

The sound of the gunshot sliced through the air. Brownlow broke off mid-sentence and all the officers heads snapped round at the sound.

Yates immediately broke into a run, yelling orders to his officers to hold their fire.

"Bloody hell!" Meadows cried.

---

Time crashed to an almost halt. Mickey felt warm blood on his chest, splattered on his face, red in his eyes. But there was no pain.

No pain.

No…_pain_.

And then the world crashed back into focus again and he heard screaming. Weight hit him, square on the chest, knocking him to the ground. The builder grunted as he fell onto Mickey, the stench from his blood and ruptured organs surrounding the young DC, making him want to gag.

Mickey thudded to the floor, hitting his head. Jackson stood over them, staring down at the carnage he'd created.

---

Meadows and Brownlow joined Yates behind the ARV. One of the SO-19 officers was at his side, using the relative cover of the van to scan the café with binoculars.

"Any movement inside?" Jack asked.

Yates looked at his officer. The young man broke from the eye pieces for a second and shook his head.

"Damn." Brownlow muttered.

---

Mickey shrugged out from beneath the heavy man and pulled off his jacket, balling it up to press against the hole in the man's stomach. The builder was making gurgling noises, drowning on his own blood.

"Jesus…" the other gunman was saying, "Jesus fucking Christ, Jackson!"

Jackson was breathing rapid, almost shaking. He stumbled back from the bleeding man. The little girl continued to scream and Jackson went to cover his ears, obviously disturbed by the noise but stopped halfway as the shock cleared and pointed the gun at her. Her mother covered her child's mouth and rocked her, shaking her head 'no' to Jackson over and over. Her lips moved as if she was pleading, but no sound came out.

Boulton made a croaking noise but that was all the protest he could make. But Mickey understood what he'd tried to do and did it for him.

"Let me call an ambulance." Mickey said, drawing Jackson's attention away.

Jackson moved his arm, pointing the gun down, aiming right for Mickey's head. He indicated the bleeding man, "leave him!"

Mickey looked up, tried to look anywhere but at the gun. His jean jacket, pressed against the builder's stomach, was now red and soaked. So were his hands. He was dimly aware of the other hostages around him, scared witless and had to force himself not to look at anyone but Jackson. He could have done with some guidance from Duncan or Boulton right now.

"No." He found himself saying.

Jackson pushed the gun right into Mickey's face.

"For fuck's sake, Jackson!"

"Shut up, Carter!" Jackson snapped, not taking his eyes from Mickey. "Get away from him." He told him.

Mickey glanced down at the man he was tending. "E's dying."

"So?"

"So its murder!"

Jackson jerked his head in the direction of the wreakage outside the café. "What the fuck d'you think that was?" He sneered. "One/two, what's the difference?" But he was still shaking, still shocked by what he'd done. That gave Mickey something to work with.

"This time you have a choice, yeah?" Mickey told him. "You let me call an ambulance and this'll all be over."

The builder was moaning, sounds growing quieter with each gasped breath. He didn't have long.

"Yeah?" Mickey prompted.

The builder's body lost its tension. Mickey felt him go limp beneath his hand but he couldn't check to see if he was dead or just unconscious.

The other gunman wavered. "Jackson…?"

"Shuddup!" The gunman yelled, finger tightening on the trigger. "Shut the fuck up!"


End file.
